I know that looks like a basket of human hair in the living room. Worse, I know that looks like there might be a human head under all of that black hair in the basket.

I too got a shock when I recently went through my dozen bags of fleeces, which I’d ignored since a long-ago time when folks still got vaccinated, Facebook was pleasant, and chalked rainbows weren’t cause for battle.

My other fleeces looked sheep-y, not like something Salome held on a platter. But this one felt like human hair when I steeled myself enough to touch it. Ew. Ick. WTF?

What had The Man I Married—or, more likely, my cat—been up to? I knew it wasn’t the dog, because she’s too transparent. I remembered that odd smell in MIM’s closet a year or so ago, which I’d perhaps too quickly chalked up to a dead rodent.

Fortunately the decapitated head came with a label I steeled myself to reach in and pluck from the terrifying tresses: 1.75 pounds of llama fur I’d paid $30 for a few years ago.

Llamaste! [Sanskrit for “thanks be to the divine for that not being a human head in my living room.”]

Llama hair is terrifying when it’s stored in a basket and you’ve forgotten about it entirely.

I remembered now that I’d come to my senses after this ridiculous purchase at a fiber festival, swearing off buying anymore full fleeces until I processed some of the 26.5 pounds of raw fiber I already owned. I’d tossed this bag of fleece (fur? hair?) into a basket without ever opening it. Since then, I’d stuck to my resolution (which obviously did not apply to processed fiber or yarn: just because a person gives up cocaine does not mean they need to give up whiskey).

Llama hair looks and feels so much like human hair that I wonder why it’s not used in the wig industry? Or maybe it is?

If I were to start my own company, using llama hair for wigs, I’d call it Dolly Llama.